Gram had been wrong. The time of confinement did not pass quickly. It crawled by—each slow, miserable hour of loneliness, each dark haunting night. There were instructions written on the walls, no doubt meant for her self-improvement. The order of meditation and its rewards. Surakian platitudes on self-control and the importance of logic. From first sight, she hated them.

At intervals, the plainest of vegetarian food was delivered through a turnstile—every monotonous meal the same, until even the sight of it nauseated her. Glaring at the offensive walls, she paced and relived memories that sickened her even more than the food.

Then, one day, it was over. The door of her cell opened. Wordlessly she was escorted to a room where her clothes awaited her. She tore off the prison robe and dressed. Her grandparents were waiting outside when she emerged. With a sob T'Beth threw herself into Amanda's arms and wept for a long time. When at last she quieted, Sarek arranged a cloak over her head and shoulders, taking care to conceal her tear-swollen eyes with the deep hood.

"Come," he said, and grasping her arm gently, led her out of the building.

It was a silent ride home. Daylight streamed through skimmer windows as they flew above the streets of ShiKahr. Strange. Now that the terrible days of isolation had finally come to an end, T'Beth could think of nothing to say. She felt bruised inside, as if her heart had been trampled underfoot.

When they reached the house, she ran to her bed and grabbed Mister. "It's okay," she soothed, "it's okay, Mister. I'm never going to leave you again." As she held the bear close, she felt safer and the dark ache in her chest eased a bit.

After awhile she went down the hall and showered in the sonic booth to get rid of the prison smell. She emerged and looked at herself in the mirror. A pale, gaunt stranger stared back as she ran a comb through her hair and dressed in fresh clothes. She knew that she must spend a little time with her grandparents. She must say something to them. It was expected of her.

Quietly T'Beth went to find them. At the edge of the living room she stopped, struck by the scene in front of her. Sarek and Amanda sat side by side on the couch, and there were tears on Gram's face. Grandfather was saying, "Vulcan justice can be harsh. They dared not be too lenient."

"Yes, they certainly made that clear," Amanda said curtly. "Sarek, I had thought the Vulcan way was a way of reason and fairness. T'Beth should never have been locked up—not after what she went through with the Klingons." She wiped away her tears and was silent for a moment. Then she said, "I don't look forward to telling Spock…"

T'Beth stepped into the room, her heart pounding. "Don't worry about him. He already knows."

Sarek and Amanda looked at her.

"He was the one who wanted me to go back and tell the truth. He knew what they would do to me."

"I do not see how," Sarek said. "Spock's re-education did include the study of Vulcan law, but he could not have anticipated the hearing's outcome. There are few guidelines for cases such as yours. As in many matters, rulings are left to the discretion of local councils."

"But you knew it might happen," T'Beth argued. "Grandmother said as much in court."

Grandfather's face was grim. "There was, of course, a possibility."

"T'Beth," Amanda said in her peacemaker tone, "it was terrible, but now it's finished. You can start over."

But T'Beth didn't want to let it go. The pain was very fresh, like an acrid taste choking her. "If you knew, then so did Father," she insisted. "I don't ever want to see him again. Ever!"

oooo

The winds rose again, but after a week T'Beth awoke to complete silence. It was on that morning that the subspace message arrived from Earth.

"It's for you," Grandmother said carefully, "from your father."

T'Beth walked past the message center without giving it a glance. After dinner she found a disk copy lying on her bed. Anger stirred. Snatching it up, she went out to the skimmer bay and tossed the disk down the disposal chute. Then she went outside. These days she had a strictly enforced curfew—in before dark—but that was still a good hour away. She was not supposed to go anywhere without her grandparents' permission, a legal restriction that she found particularly galling.

Sneaking out the garden gate, she walked beneath the crimson sky to the meditation park that bordered the western safebelt. It was shady there, even if it was too early in the evening to have cooled very much. The smoothly raked sand felt soft underfoot as she walked beneath the twisted branches of the chai trees. She sat down on a bench, by a planting of blood-red foliage.

Two years of probation. T'Beth didn't know if she bear another two years on this miserable, sweltering planet. Before this latest trouble, she had begged Father to go along with him to Earth, and now more than ever she longed for its cool blue skies. But she didn't want to be with him anymore. She wanted to live with Gram's sister, Doris. She wanted to live in Minneapolis, as far away as she could get from Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. It snowed there in the winter, cold fat flakes that stuck to your face and—

A shadow moved. T'Beth glanced up and found T'Jhur standing nearby, quietly watching her. At the sight of the Vulcan girl, she flushed with embarrassment. She had not seen the dark-eyed T'Jhur since the time in her grandparents' garden, before the confinement. Council sentences were matters of public record. T'Jhur would know what had happened. She had probably come to offer her condolences.

"T'Jhur," T'Beth said, "you move like a cat—I didn't hear you."

"You move like a LeMatya," T'Jhur responded. "Bold, noble, fearless."

T'Beth looked at the ground, her face burning. "You wouldn't have thought I was fearless if you were there."

T'Jhur sat on the other end of the bench. "But I was not there, T'Beth. The cat was not at your side." Listlessly reaching toward her ankle, she drew out the jade-handled dagger. Its blade flashed as she tossed it down, sinking it hilt-deep in the sand. She stared at it. "I admit that I shed tears when I heard about your sentence. I experienced such shame. But Samar—that pekh only gloated."

T'Beth found it difficult to imagine the perfectly composed T'Jhur in tears, but then she had never heard her curse before, either. She shifted uncomfortably. "Never mind. You're not the first person who's ever let me down. My father's made a career of it. Now, there's a real pekh for you!"

T'Jhur straightened up and looked at her. "Your father is a man of great integrity and courage. Some say he is a hero."

T'Beth gave a bitter laugh. "A hero. Yes, I heard all about what happened on Earth with the probe. I've heard about all his other marvelous exploits—how he hooked up the Enterprise mains with his bare hands, how he helped save this planet and that galaxy and maybe even the entire universe a time or two." Her eyes settled on the intricately carved handle protruding from the sand. Bending over, she took the dagger into her hands and studied it with interest. "It's all a bunch of crap," she said, choosing a Standard variation of pekh. "Heroes aren't real people. You wouldn't want to know my father—not the way he really is, not the way I know him. But go ahead—hold onto your illusions."

T'Jhur's eyes did not waver. "He must have hurt you deeply."

"Now you sound like my analyst," T'Beth complained, "and I can't stand that. Let's talk about this knife instead." She wiped the grains of sand off the blade with her fingers and admired the way the fading light of Eridani glimmered off the flawless Vulcan steel. "It's beautiful—and these runes on the handle—I've never seen anything like them."

"It is very old. An assassin's dagger from the Second Era Golheni." She scarcely waited for T'Beth to absorb the information. "I want you to have it."

T'Beth's eyes widened.

"Will you accept this from me?" T'Jhur asked. "As an offering of friendship?"

"But…but this dagger must be worth a fortune," stammered T'Beth. "Where did you get it?"

"That is not important."

"It is to me. Have you forgotten? I'm on parole."

T'Jhur lowered her eyes. "Alright. I will tell you. It was…a gift from Samar. As you know, his father is a Golheni."

"Is it…stolen?"

"No, T'Beth." Leaning down, she unstrapped the ankle sheath concealed under her clothing and fastened it securely to T'Beth's right leg. "This sheath is modern," she said, covering it with T'Beth's pant leg, "made from the latest sensor-resistant material. It will escape notice most anywhere but on a matter transporter."

T'Beth was torn. The weight of the dagger in her hands felt strangely exciting. So clean, so smooth, so enticingly deadly. What would it be like to carry it hidden against her body, where she had only to reach down and—

But she knew her grandparents would never approve, and as for the council—

But had her parole made any specific mention of daggers? Would it be so unusual for a Vulcan to carry a knife? The land was dangerous beyond the safebelt, with animals and even plants capable of killing a grown man. And sometimes those dangers even found their way into the safebelt.

"I don't know," she wavered. "T'Jhur, this is too much. And what about Samar? Doesn't this rightly belong to his family?"

T'Jhur's dark eyes flashed. "A curse on Samar and his entire misbegotten family! The dagger is mine to give…and I am giving it to you."

Moved by the girl's vehemence, T'Beth slipped the razor-sharp blade into its sheath. It was done. Holding up her hand, she said, "Nemaiyo. Thank you. I am honored."

T'Jhur composed herself. Standing, she inclined her head formally and said, "The honor is mine." Then she slipped silently away and the shadows of the park closed around her.

T'Beth roused herself. High above the treetops, the last orange glow of Eridani was fading to purple. The air was cooling rapidly. Soon it would be completely dark. Leaving the park, she jogged up the twilight streets toward home. The weight of the Golheni dagger felt pleasant against her leg. It was good to have a secret again. She had almost forgotten how it felt, the little thrill of excitement, the way it made her blood pulse, and the way it made everything seem different.

As she rounded the final corner, the streetlights came on. At the same instant a dark shape slipped in front of her. She stopped short and nearly bumped into the tall Vulcan youth. "Samar!" she said, out of breath.

He looked on her with disdain. "What is that on you face—sweat?"

She felt the perspiration trickling, but made no move to wipe it away. Samar was not worth even that much effort.

"So," he went on, "you would not listen to me. I can imagine how you sweat as you testified with your grandfather the ambassador looking on."

T'Beth struggled with her temper. "Perhaps you would have liked me to name you in my testimony. It's not too late, cowardly one. It could still be arranged."

His eyes glittered at her with maddening coolness. "No. You will not. You are too much like your father."

He had struck a nerve and T'Beth came close to punching him. "Don't be so sure," she threatened and began to walk away. Then on a reckless impulse she turned, smiled at him, and spat in his startled face.

He drew back, wiping at himself in an open display of revulsion.

"What is that on your face?" she mocked. "Spittle?" Heart pounding, she strode up the street. Footsteps followed her. She broke into a run, but he came on steadily and was gaining. A strong hand clamped onto her shoulder and spun her around. Losing her balance, she landed painfully hard in the street. Samar stood over her, his lips drawn back in icy rage.

"Filthy outworlder!" he hissed, and for a moment it seemed as if he would attack her.

T'Beth remembered the dagger at her ankle, but she dared not show it, no matter what happened. The sight of his gift to T'Jhur would only throw Samar into a deeper fury.

A sound in the street caught T'Beth's attention.

"What is this?" spoke a deep, familiar voice.

Relief flooded T'Beth as Sarek appeared under the street lamp.

At the sight of the ambassador, Samar seemed to shrink into himself. "Sir," he bowed nervously.

T'Beth sat up and rubbed her aching forearm. "It's alright, Grandfather," she said evenly. "I fell as I was running home. Samar stopped to help."

Sarek looked long and hard at the youth, then held out his hand to T'Beth. She arose and gingerly checked out her scrapes and bruises.

"If you had come home on time," Sarek said dryly, "there would have been no need to run. If you had let us know where you would be, I would have known where to find you."

"Yes, Grandfather," she said, her head bowed but her eyes on Samar.

Once more Sarek turned his attention to the boy. "Young man, what have you to say?"

Samar's eyes shifted to T'Beth. "It is as she told you, sir. She was running…and then she fell."

Sarek stared at him until the boy fidgeted uneasily. "Who is your father?"

"…Subec," he replied with some reluctance.

"Son of Subec, what business have you on the street at this hour?"

"I…I was walking," Samar answered.

Sarek studied him a moment longer. "Perhaps you, too, should go home. Now."

"Yes sir," he replied and left hurriedly.

Sarek and T'Beth walked the short distance to the estate house in silence. She was uncomfortably aware of having lied to her grandfather, even if it was only a small deceit. And she did not even want to think about the knife strapped above her ankle and what would happen if Sarek discovered it.

When they entered the house Sarek turned to her, his dark eyes demanding the truth. "Where did you go?"

"The meditation park," she replied with pounding heart.

"With Samar?"

She was glad that she could answer honestly. "No, Grandfather."

"How do you know that boy?"

T'Beth looked at the floor, her palms damp, her mind struggling to devise an answer that would satisfy them both. There did not seem to be such an answer.

At last Sarek said, "I do not believe that he was helping you."

T'Beth remained quiet a moment longer. "It may be," she conceded, "that he was not…so very helpful."

Without shifting a muscle of his face, Sarek managed to convey his disapproval. "Rules were broken tonight. Have you so soon forgotten the stern lesson meted out to you in council chambers?"

"No, Grandfather," she said, embarrassed.

"I think it best that you stay off the streets for a time. Do you not agree?"

It was spoken as a dismissal. With a nod of acceptance T'Beth turned and slowly walked to the hall. There she paused and looked back at him. "Grandfather," she said softly, "I'm glad you came for me tonight."

It seemed to her that something in his dark eyes gentled, but she could not be sure. Turning, she went alone into her room and closed the door.